


if you're needing something

by atrytone



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 11:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14354547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atrytone/pseuds/atrytone
Summary: Nicke hates losing, but he’s grown out of letting it black out everything else in his mind. Alex can’t seem to do the same thing, not when they get on a roll like this, not when nothing he tries seems to make a difference.Luckily, he has Nicke to help.





	if you're needing something

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Softens" by Wet. 
> 
> This is purely indulgent nonsense that I wrote sometime in early March, starting with the concept "The Caps keep losing and Nicke has to gently dom Alex about it." Sorry about me.
> 
> (Thanks to the kindness of those of you who looked this over and pointed out my most egregious mistakes. Any that remain are my own fault.)

Nicke hates losing. Obviously he hates it. You don’t get into professional sports because you love to _not_ win.

He doesn’t hate it the way Alex hates losing, though. With Alex, it burrows in and chafes his nerves raw until you can see it in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders, in the rhythmic clench of his jaw when no one but Nicke is looking.

He can hear Alex now across the room in his media scrum. The urge to push his way over through the crowd and herd Alex away is strong, no matter how many times Alex has told him it’d just make things worse. _I have to talk, Backy. If not, they say, ‘oh Ovi, he speechless about team. Too embarrassed to face us.’ Looks bad._

Not being able to stop it doesn’t mean he has to enjoy the hunted look in Alex’s eyes, or the way he is crossing his arms like a shield between himself and the reporters.

By the time the room empties out, Alex is sitting in his stall with his elbows on his knees and his eyes turned toward the ground. He doesn’t look up when Nicke walks over, not even when he runs the tip of one finger down the crooked, beautiful line of Alex’s nose, or when he cards his fingers through Alex’s shower-damp hair at the base of his neck.

“Let’s go.” Nicke tugs a little at the hair and smiles softly when Alex finally looks up to meet his eyes. “Take me home, älskling.”

There’s a beat where Nicke thinks he’s going to have to repeat himself, or pull Alex to the car, but then he nods and stands to follow Nicke out.

Nicke hates losing, but he’s grown out of letting it black out everything else in his mind. Alex can’t seem to do the same thing, not when they get on a roll like this, not when nothing he tries seems to make a difference.

Luckily, he has Nicke to help.

* * *

 

The drive home is quiet. Nicke drives while Alex stares out the window, and he knows Alex enough to know that he doesn’t feel like being drawn out into conversation. It’s fine: if anyone understands the value of quiet, it’s Nicke. Alex keeps one hand on Nicke’s thigh, but it’s more like this absent-minded, habitual need for contact than anything else.

He figures they are heading straight to sleep tonight, but then they only make it a few steps into the house, just enough for Nicke to hit one light switch and Alex to shut the door, before Alex wraps a big hand around each of Nicke’s wrists and pushes his face between Nicke’s shoulders. Pressed together like this, Nicke can tip his head back so it rests against the top of Alex’s.

They stand in the quiet a moment, just breathing together, before he feels like he can speak.

“You aren’t too tired?”

Alex shakes his head, but Nicke needs to hear it. Needs to be sure. “Words, Alex.”

“I’m not too tired.” His voice is rough. He hasn’t spoken a word to Nicke since the game, hasn’t spoken since the reporters finally drifted off as far as Nicke remembers.

“Tell me what you want, älskling.”

“Need you. Need little scene, please, no hitting, just little something….” His voice drifts off and Nicke can feel him shrug.

This, Nicke can do. He can help Alex in this way, help him quiet his brain. Carve some space out in the world for him to breathe.

It takes a pretty committed tug before Alex lets go of one of Nicke’s wrists and allows himself to be pulled so he is standing where Nicke can look at him. He reaches with his freed hand to push Alex’s hair back from his face and feels almost unbearably tender looking into the bright ice blue of his eyes, at the spot to the side of his lower lip where Alex has worried the skin red and swollen.

“Okay, no hitting. Anything else?”

Alex blinks slowly at him, considering; there’s a flash of pink when his tongue swipes across his lower lip. “Want to make you feel good. Want to be good.”

Nicke nods and takes advantage of the quiet moment, as Alex watches him for what is next, to lightly graze his nails against Alex’s scalp through his hair.  He can’t help a little smile when Alex sighs and lets his eyes drift shut at the touch. Nicke half expects him to sway toward him and rub on him like a cat when he pulls his hand away, but Alex holds still.

Good.

“Kiss me,” Nicke orders, voice pitched low.

Alex’s eyes aren’t closed now.

He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat as he leans in to fit their mouths together, fingertips finding their way beneath Nicke’s suit jacket to squeeze at the softness of his hip.

When he gets like this, needy and quiet and eager to be bossed around, Alex will kiss Nicke for as long as Nicke lets him. Just these sweet presses of his lips contrasted with the wet heat of his tongue, one hand gentle at the side of Nicke’s jaw like he is something fragile rather than a professional hockey player.  Like it’s the only thing in the world, like it’s all he wants to be doing.

It drives Nicke crazy.

It is driving him crazy now, the way Alex hums into the kiss like it is a relief when Nicke’s mouth opens beneath his and their tongues slide together. He tastes like mint and red Gatorade, which would be a weird mix if it weren’t so distinctly Alex that Nicke had developed a sort of Pavlovian response to it.

Maybe he should be expecting it since Alex knows he fucking loves it and he said he wanted to make Nicke feel good, but it still comes as a surprise when Alex catches Nicke’s lower lip between his teeth and tugs just enough to make Nicke groan.

When Alex’s tongue goes to soothe at Nicke’s lip, it’s just a moment before the kiss goes filthy and rides it out there for a while. Alex has one calloused thumb at the hinge of Nicke’s jaw, rubbing it back and forth. The rasp of it against the pitiful stubble that has accumulated there is loud in the quiet of the house and it grounds Nicke. Centers him.

There are times where Nicke has to drag Alex down, where one or the other of them will ask for this and Nicke knows he’s going to need the better part of the day to get him down and keep him there long enough for Alex, to ease him up and out of it and take care of the aftermath. Because as much as Alex likes submitting to Nicke, as hot as it gets him, he is still Alex, loud, headstrong Alex, and so sometimes, Nicke really has to commit to getting them both there.

But then there are the other times, times like tonight, where all it takes is acknowledging where they are headed to get Alex sinking down, pliant and adoring and turned on. He’d take either, he’ll always take Alex whatever way he can get him, but this is so much better after a hard day, a hard loss. It helps Alex give himself space in his own head, sure, but it also gives Nicke something to be certain of, to control, to map out mentally in a way he knows he is good at.

When Alex’s mouth slides away from Nicke’s again to kiss at his jawline, nose nuzzling up against his face and beard tickling his throat, Nicke reaches between them to grasp Alex through his pants. He’s so fucking hard already, hot and heavy against Nicke’s hand; Alex groans at the contact.

“I’m here, I’ve got you,” Nicke soothes, keeping the pressure of his hand light. “Was thinking about you, about how good you are, about how you can be good for me tonight. Gotta get you to the room first though, Sanyuka.”

It’s sweet, the way Alex laces their fingers together and pulls Nicke after him through the house and into the bedroom, the way he won’t let go as they remove their shoes by the bedroom door.

It’s less sweet, the feeling Nicke gets when Alex sinks to his knees at the foot of their bed and leans forward to rest his cheek on Nicke’s thigh. That feels more like he’s been plunged into the middle of a volcano, like he’s going to catch on fire; like his brain is overloading on the sensation of Alex’s hair between his fingers, the heat of his cheek like a brand even through Nicke’s pants, the way Alex’s broad shoulders droop and relax as soon as his knees hit the ground.

Alex is going to fucking kill him one of these days.

Nicke isn’t going to regret one moment.

“Take off your clothes and lay down, face down. Pillow under your hips. Hands by your head.”

It’s a command, and Alex takes it as one, scrambling to do as he is told. Nicke watches with his palm absently rocking against his dick through his pants as Alex peels out of his clothes and arranges himself on the bed the way Nicke told him to.

Only once he’s laid out across the bed does Nicke climb up after him.

Alex has the best ass. Nicke loves it, loves watching his muscles shift as he settles, rolling his hips forward a little. Loves the curve of it into each thick thigh, the dimples at the base of Alex’s spine. Loves that although a truly incredible number of people have seen Alex in the nude before or after a game, or just by stopping by the house at the wrong moment, no one gets to see him like _this_ except Nicke.

“You look so fucking good,” Nicke says, trailing a reverential hand down Alex’s back and across each round cheek. “You gonna be good for me, älskling?”

Alex sounds lust-drunk in a way that goes right to Nicke’s dick when he says, “Yeah, Nicky.”

“You tried so hard to get us a win tonight. Took big hits.” He shifts so he can lean over Alex, brushes his mouth over the sensitive skin at the back of one knee, marvels at how quickly goosebumps cover Alex’s legs. “Hurt your knee.”

He moves up to skim a big, purple bruise on the outside of Alex’s thigh. The skin feels extra warm beneath his lips and Alex gives a gratifying hiss when Nicke presses in, just barely, with his fingertips.

“Kept getting hit, kept hitting, kept getting up.” Nicke sounds awed, he knows, but it is hard _not_ to be awed by Alex, by the way he shows up and puts his entire body, his entire self on the line every single game. In everything he does. He kneads his fingers into the flesh of Alex’s ass and gives a low noise of approval at the way it pinks up from even that contact.

“You did such a good job tonight, Alex. Do you know what it’s like to get to watch you play still? Makes me feel so lucky.”

It takes barely any pressure against the inside of Alex’s knee for him to spread his legs so Nicke has room between them. He sets his teeth into the side of Alex’s ass near where it meets his thigh, sucks hard on the skin and gets a loud moan in response.

It’s easy, then, to go from sucking a bruise into the skin there to sliding over where he wants to be, where Alex wants him. Easy to use both hands to spread Alex’s cheeks wide and expose him so Nicke can get his mouth over Alex’s hole, so he can drag the tip of his tongue around the perimeter before licking in a broad swipe across the muscle and feel Alex’s muscles spasm beneath his hands.

The sound Alex makes is fucking exquisite. It’s like it comes from somewhere deep in his chest, this rumble that cuts off in a groan, and Nicke feels it down in his bones.

He loved eating ass before he ever met Alex, but with him, it was so much better than with anyone else right from the beginning. The first time Alex let him do it, Alex came so hard on Nicke’s tongue and two of his fingers that he cried.

There are these sounds, though, that are probably Nicke’s favorite part. They come when he starts to get desperate, these wounded little whines from the back of his throat, the wet noise of him moving his tongue against his own lips and teeth mindlessly. The way he says Nicke’s name, over and over like a prayer.

He’s halfway there already, gasping Nicke’s name again and again as Nicke presses the tip of his thumb against Alex’s spit-slick hole and laves his tongue around it. He lets his face get spit sloppy because he knows Alex likes the feel of it, likes knowing Nicke messes himself up just for Alex.

Taking Alex apart like this, with his mouth pressed to that soft, private place—there isn’t anything else like it, and he knows how fucking lucky he is, and he almost wants to make Alex come like this but he also knows that Alex needs more from him tonight, and he trusts Nicke to give it to him.

That’s the only reason why, as Alex starts to get even noisier, on the edge of pleading, and pushes his hips back with enough force that it messes up Nicke’s rhythm, Nicke pulls away.

Alex doesn’t try to stop him. He stays put, even though Nicke can feel the tremble of the muscles in his thighs beneath his hands when he slides them down off of Alex’s ass.

“Good job, Sanyuka. Got more for you, I got you,” Nicke says quietly, giving one last little pat to Alex’s ass.

He’s so hard that he thinks he’d come in ten seconds if he fucked Alex now. To give them both a breather, Nicke climbs fully off the bed to take his suit off. Takes the time to hang it up properly, decides to pick up Alex’s while he is at it. Alex, for his part, stays quiet and still on the bed, face turned toward the opposite wall.

The moonlight coming in the windows by the bed is bright enough that it catches the gray in Alex’s hair and makes it look like threads of silver spun through the dark. He doesn’t fidget, even when Nicke dawdles for a moment just to look at him spread out over the white of their sheets, the way he makes the giant California king look cozy and small.

“Being so good, älskling.” Nicke sits back on the bed next to where Alex is lying and touches one hand to Alex’s hipbone gently. “Roll over, let me see you.”

It takes a second for Alex to turn, but when he does, Nicke can finally see how hard he is—cock jutting up thick and so red it looks painful, the wet shine of precome smeared across the head. He makes a sympathetic noise in his throat and threads his fingers through Alex’s hair again, scrapes his nails lightly against Alex’s scalp to soothe him. One of his necklaces is pulled back weirdly against his neck from turning over, so Nicke takes the time to pull it free and carefully arrange the 8 at the center of Alex’s chest.

Fuck, Nicke loves him.

Alex is staring up at him with his eyes half-shut, and Nicke can see him pushing his tongue against his own lower lip rhythmically, but he doesn’t say anything. Just watches. Waits for guidance.

“Gonna ride you, Alex,” Nicke murmurs as he pulls a condom and the lube from the nightstand. He applies a generous amount of the lube to his fingers before moving so he is straddling Alex’s thighs. “Gonna ride you, and you can’t come, okay? Not yet.”

Alex nods and tucks his fingers into the curve of Nicke’s knees where they are bent. Nicke would reprimand him, but the expression in his face is so intense that Nicke doesn’t have it in him to rearrange him, to move his arms away, to bite out a sharp word.

Instead, his voice is soft when he reminds Alex to stay still.

It feels better when Alex opens him up. Alex loves fingering Nicke anyway, goes one thick finger at a time and twists up against his prostate just enough to take Nicke’s breath away, but he can be more efficient doing it himself. Plus, it’s gratifying in a different way to see Alex’s eyes alert beneath those heavy eyelashes, raking up and down Nicke’s exposed flesh, to feel his fingertips digging in to the soft skin of Nicke’s knees like he is struggling to keep from reaching and fitting his fingers inside Nicke.

He won’t move though, not again, not until Nicke tells him to. It’s a heady feeling.

Alex says as much a second later, practically mumbling when he says, “Will be good, Nicky. Promise.”

“I know you will. You’re always good for me, I know.” Sweat is starting to bead at the nape of his neck, he can feel it, feels a drop roll between his shoulders and down his back. He adds a third finger and stretches wide; there’s a dull throb of pain, but he can’t bring himself to care. He just wants Alex in him.

The sight of Alex sprawled out and flushed makes his cock throb, so Nicke uses his free hand to give himself a lazy couple of strokes. Doesn’t miss the way Alex’s attention shifts, or the wet sound as his mouth drops open. He wants to chase the flush with his mouth, kiss all that hot skin, feel the heat of it beneath his lips. Leave bruises in the shape of his mouth in his wake.

But he has a plan, and they are both too keyed up to last through that and still fuck, which is why when he doesn’t feel like waiting anymore, he plucks the foil packet from where he’d dropped it on Alex’s stomach and rolls the condom on before raising himself up over Alex.

“Put your hands on the headboard,” Nicke orders.

Alex makes a low sound in the back of his throat but does as he is told, like Nicke knew he would. He could tie him up, restrain him; God knows they have the tools. But it’s good like this too, asking Alex to consciously hold himself back. Giving him a job to do. Giving him something to be good at.

It’s… Christ. Sinking down onto Alex is still the best feeling. Stretching around him, taking him in, until Nicke doesn’t think he can take anymore, until he doesn’t have space for doubt or anger or anything outside the bubble they create for themselves. He’s a professional at this now, at taking Alex into his body, but it still hasn’t gotten old.

He will never get over how good Alex is for him.

Once he’s fully seated, he rolls his hips and he can’t hold back a broken little moan at how good it feels to be full of Alex. The sound of Alex’s fingers clenching on the wood of their headboard spurs Nicke to raise his head and shake the curls back from his face so he can look his fill.

The muscles in Alex’s arms are taut, fingers white with the force of their grip on the headboard, and his chest is straining like he’s just come off an overlong shift on the ice. It would take a stronger man than Nicke to look at him stretched out just for him and not touch. So Nicke doesn’t resist the urge, pressure featherlight as he runs his fingers up the middle of Alex’s chest and across his collarbone, passes a hand up each of Alex’s arms to give each clenched hand a gentle pat.

“Good, Sanyuka. Good job. Stay just like this. Don’t come until I say.” Alex’s eyes are such a vivid blue from this close. He’s listening to every single word that comes out of Nicke’s mouth like it is the key to the universe. “That’s very important—if you think you’re going to, tell me. I’ll help you be good.”

Nicke fits his palm to the hard cut of Alex’s jaw for a second when he sits back up, brushes his thumb over Alex’s lower lip. Smiles when Alex purses his lips against it in a soft kiss. “You tell me and I’ll take care of you. Okay?”

“Okay, Nicky.”

There was a time, right when Nicke first moved to Washington and he wasn’t sure what this thing with Alex was going to be off the ice, when he was afraid of loving someone this much, so much you felt like your whole heart was gonna burst with it.

Now Nicke can’t imagine living without this.

Not just _this_ —although god, it feels good, fucking himself on Alex’s cock, taking him deep and enjoying the burn of his muscles and the heat of Alex against him with each slow thrust, the way his nerves light up until he feels like he must be glowing.

But the rest of it too, the waking up with Alex’s heavy leg pinning Nicke down, the barking on the bench until they scare the rookies, the migraine days on the couch when Alex reads quietly to Nicke and lets him use his thigh as a pillow.

When Alex puts himself in Nicke’s hands and trusts Nicke to take care of him.

After they both get their bearings, Nicke picks up his pace and doesn’t try to muffle the soft, punched out noises coming out of his mouth with every heavy drop.

“Love you in me—ah, Alex—love this, fuck.” Alex wants to know he’s doing good, likes to hear Nicke, and Nicke is more than happy to deliver.

The bed starts to creak with the movement of their big bodies together when Alex starts thrusting up to meet Nicke’s rhythm, and fuck if that isn’t a turn on too. Nicke is so turned on he feels like he is going to combust, even as he’s getting exactly what he wants, even as Alex slams into him and his blood goes molten.

He loses time; it could be five minutes, it could be thirty. He can’t think about anything other than the slick slide of Alex inside him, the way the sensation consumes everything in its wake.

“Stop, Nicky, baby, I’m—I’m come if—“ Alex is gasping around the words, frantic, and it pulls Nicke out of his daze immediately.

He reaches between them to grasp the base of Alex’s dick firmly and raise himself off, and he has to ignore the protest in his thighs and the blood roaring in his own cock as he shifts awkwardly to straddle Alex higher up his body, but it’s worth it for the way the worry line between Alex’s eyebrows eases instantly.

Christ. “Perfect, Sasha, good job,” Nicke murmurs, petting his hands down Alex’s sides.

He leans down to rain kisses over Alex’s chest and rub his fingertips against Alex’s nipples lazily, smiles at the ragged breath he gets from Alex in response. He stays like that, pressing close-mouthed kisses to Alex’s skin in between whispering praise into his ear, just long enough for their breathing to slow down a little.

Long enough that he thinks he can shift down Alex’s body to reach back and fit the tip of Alex against him to sink back without worrying that Alex is going to blow immediately.

“Feel good?” Alex questions softly when Nicke’s breath catches in his throat.

Does it feel good? It feels like—fuck, like sparks up and down his spine, like he’s going to melt into nothing, like he might be able to come just from rocking against Alex like this with the way it sets his nerves on fire.

“Feels so good, älskling. Always give me exactly what I need.”

The noise Alex makes in response is pretty fucking close to a sob, and Nicke wants to hear him make it again and again.

 

* * *

 

Nicke is able to bring Alex to that shaking, wordless place two more times and ease him back from it again before it feels like too much, before he worries Alex might cry, and not in the nice way, if he does it another time.

“Kolyusha, please.” He has lapsed into Russian, voice low and pleading, but Nicke would recognize the sound of Alex begging in any language, anywhere.

Nicke feels like his chest is going to crack open sometimes with how big it feels to look at Alex and see all that trust naked in his eyes. He is the most precious thing in Nicke’s life and to hold all of that, all of the world for him…

He is also so fucking beautiful, stretched out and flushed from the dark rosy red of his nipples all the way up to his hairline, his hands still clasping the headboard where Nicke put them. That big, powerful body. The greatest hockey player alive.

All for Nicke.

Nicke leans forward to fit their mouths together, can’t help but grunt softly when the movement traps his cock between their shifting stomachs. God, Nicke is so close, he’s pretty sure if he so much as brushed his knuckles against his dick he’d come.

“I’ve got you, Sanyuka,” he murmurs, swallowing the broken sound of relief that Alex gasps out. There’s an immense wave of pride at being able to do this for Alex, to take him here.

Alex is noisy, he’s so fucking noisy, making this keening noise against Nicke’s mouth, and if Nicke tilts his hips just— so —fuck, the blunt head of Alex’s cock rubs right against his prostate with every slow push-pull and he can’t help but make noise to match Alex then because he’s right at the edge and it’s so good, Alex always makes him feel so good.

Nicke comes all over their stomachs with a sharp shout, and all he sees is white behind his eyelids. When he has the strength to raise his head off of Alex’s chest and open his eyes again, Alex has his head thrown back, lips shaping a refrain of Russian curses intermixed with Nicke’s name. The sheen of sweat on his chest glints alongside the gleam of his necklaces in the moonlight.

Nicke sits up, groaning at the way the change in angle pulls against his sensitive rim. “Come on, Alex. You are so good for me. I’ve got you, you can move.”

He doesn’t normally like Alex in him after he’s come already, but every time he rocks down it is so good it’s making his toes curl, just the right side of hurting, and Alex… Alex looks like Nicke has taken him to pieces and also like he might be about to die. Nicke wants him to feel good. To feel like he did good.

“Sanyuka, älskling, come for me. Come on.”

Alex doesn’t make any noise when he comes a few stuttering thrusts later. It’s not until several minutes have passed and Nicke stretches to kiss away a track of drying tears that Alex even seems to come back down to Earth, murmuring something that doesn’t quite become words as he tilts his face toward Nicke for a kiss.

Nicke quiets him with whispered praise against his mouth as he reaches up Alex’s arms to urge him to release his death grip on the headboard.

Alex protests faintly at the movement, but Nicke knows better than to leave him there to get stiff and painful, knows that he needs to massage the soft pad of Alex’s hand with his thumb to help restore the blood flow and keep it from cramping. Strictly speaking, he doesn’t _need_ to press a kiss into each palm, but he does it anyway before he lets go, still telling Alex how good he is, and how beautiful, and how much Nicke loves him.

“Stay,” Alex mumbles when Nicke carefully removes the condom from Alex and starts his climb out of bed to dispose of it and get them cleaned up. His thighs ache from their efforts on the ice and in bed. His skating will be off tomorrow, he knows; it’s a practice day, though, and it’s worth it for the way Alex has been reduced to a mostly-wordless puddle in their bed.

“Don’t want you to wake me up cranky because you’re sticky and thirsty. Gonna go get a washcloth, something to drink. Be right back.”

It can’t be more than three minutes before he is back in the room cleaning the lube and come and spit from Alex’s skin, before Nicke climbs into bed and curls up against Alex’s side with the Gatorade.

“C’mon, Sasha. Drink just a little for me.” Nicke drags his fingers up and down Alex’s side gently until he pushes up onto an elbow so he can drink without drowning himself or pouring it on the bed.

“Bring favorite. You like me,” Alex says after a long drink, smiling widely with his tongue pressed against the gap in his smile, even as he gives a slow, heavy-lidded blink, like he is seconds from passing out.

It should be challenging for Nicke to arrange all Alex’s heavy limbs so that the half-asleep Alex is spooned back against him, except for how Nicke has years of practice at it now. The combination of Alex becoming dead-weight the minute he comes and him liking to be the little spoon more often than not didn’t leave many other options.

“You big idiot—I love you, Sanyuka,” Nicke says the words into Alex’s neck once he has them tucked in and gets a soft laugh from Alex in response.

“Best sweet nothings, my Nicky.” Alex makes a sleepy noise and pulls Nicke’s arm tighter around him, kisses the back of his hand before lacing their fingers. “Love you too.”


End file.
